


Five Times Peter Said No To Sylar, And One Time He Said Yes

by ellerkay



Category: Heroes (TV)
Genre: Dirty Talk, Light BDSM, M/M, Slash, heavy BDSM implied
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-30
Updated: 2015-08-30
Packaged: 2018-04-18 03:56:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4691120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ellerkay/pseuds/ellerkay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While they're stuck in his head, Sylar tries to get closer to Peter. Peter resists.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Five Times Peter Said No To Sylar, And One Time He Said Yes

**Author's Note:**

> Set during S4E17, "The Wall."

_1\. One year in_

Peter put down the sledgehammer. It was getting dark. Sometimes, he worked through the night, but he couldn’t face it tonight. He wouldn’t give up – he couldn’t – but a part of him was starting to wonder if it really was futile. When he felt like that, he knew it was time to take a break.

Sylar was on the ground a few feet away, watching. He didn’t even have a book today. All day, Peter had wanted to yell at him to stop staring, but it felt like admitting defeat to let Sylar know it bothered him.

Sylar had that sad, lost look on his face again. Peter hated when he looked like that. It made him feel sympathy he didn’t want to feel. This man had murdered Nathan, and countless others.

And yet...He was the only other person in the world, right now. For who knew how long. Maybe forever.

“You want to come over to my place?” Peter asked. Sylar jumped to his feet, the sadness replaced by an eager, hopeful expression that made Peter feel even more uncomfortable.

“Really?” Sylar said. He frowned suddenly, suspicious. “What for?”

Peter shrugged. “Have some dinner, couple beers. Watch _Ghostbusters_ , maybe?”

For a moment, Peter thought Sylar was going to demand further explanation, or even refuse. Instead, he just swallowed, and nodded. “Okay,” he said.

***

Peter was watching the movie. Sylar was still watching Peter. Peter tried to ignore it, but Sylar was just inches away on his small couch. Peter glanced at him out of the corner of his eye.

“Stop it, man, you’re creeping me out,” Peter said. Sylar didn’t reply, and Peter finally looked at him. “Seriously, what – ”

Sylar leaned in towards him. Peter jumped back so hard he fell off the couch.

“What the hell!” he said, sprawled on the floor.

Sylar’s head drooped, his hair falling forward, hiding his face.

“Sorry,” he said, in a choked voice. “It’s been…so long. And now it’s been a long time for you, too. I thought…you invited me over…”

“For dinner!” Peter said.

“It’s not like it would be the first time,” Sylar said, not raising his head.

“I thought you were…” Peter took a swig of beer, frowning deeply. “You weren’t you, then. You weren’t even in your body.”

“I still remember it.” Sylar raised his head slowly, finally looking at Peter. “I remember all of it. I know what he felt – ”

Peter jumped to his feet and put his beer bottle down on the coffee table with a thud, his heart pounding painfully. “Get out of here,” he said.

Sylar looked stricken, but he didn’t say anything, just stood up and left the apartment.

_2\. The next night_

Sylar hadn’t shown up at the wall all day, for which Peter was grateful. That evening, however, there was a knock at Peter’s door. Peter sighed, rubbing his eyes, and considered just ignoring it, but in the end, he got up and answered it.

“I have some of my powers,” Sylar said, without preamble. Peter blinked at him.

“What?”

“They were gone. Maybe Parkman took them away, I don’t know. But after a year or two, I started trying again. It’s...they’re kind of hit or miss.” He took a deep breath. “But I got really good at shapeshifting.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

Sylar swallowed. “I…what I said last night – ”

Peter shook his head. “Can we just forget about it?”

“Peter, listen, please.”

Sylar’s eyes were beseeching. Peter sighed and gave a short nod.

“If you don’t want me,” Sylar said, rushing the words out, “I could be someone else. I could be anyone you wanted. I could – I could be Nathan for you.” He waited, eyes fixed on Peter’s face.

Peter stared back at him for a second, frozen, and then he punched him in the face as hard as he could. Sylar reeled back, a hand pressed to his eye.

“I don’t want to see you for at least a month,” Peter told him, and slammed the door shut.

_3\. Eighteen months in_

They were in Sylar’s apartment, watching _Misery._

“I’m so sick of this movie,” Sylar groaned.

“It’s one of yours,” Peter said. “You said it was your favorite.”

“That was before it was the _only thing on_.”

They’d found that if they tried to watch movies neither of them knew well, the plots didn’t make much sense, and some scenes were fuzzy or missing. Sometimes they would only get a few clips from a trailer. Neither of them knew that many movies well enough to really watch.

“I don’t know what to tell you, Sylar.” Peter looked away from the screen, wincing. He hated the hobbling scene.

“Call me Gabriel?” Sylar asked suddenly. Peter glanced at him.

“What brought that on?”

Sylar stared down at his beer bottle. “You know I’m trying not to be that person anymore.”

“Yeah, I know. It’s good.”

Sylar looked up at him again. “So, will you? Call me by my real name?”

Peter was quiet for a long moment. “I don’t think I can.”

“Oh.” Sylar looked away again. “Why not?”

Peter sighed. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I can’t let myself forget.”

“Right.” Sylar fell silent, and they didn’t speak again for the rest of the film.

_4\. Two years in_

“You know what the worst part was, before you got here?” Sylar asked. They were in a lavish hotel room, mostly for the change of scenery.

On the other bed, Peter looked up from his book. “What?”

“Remember what I did, first thing, when I saw you?”

“Yelled at me that I wasn’t real, and told me to go away or you’d kill me,” Peter said. Sylar rolled his eyes.

“Touched you,” he said. He rolled off the bed and sat on the floor by Peter’s. “Remember?”

“Not really,” Peter said.

“I do.” Sylar stared at him. “The worst thing wasn’t thinking I’d never get to have sex again. It was that I’d never get to touch anyone. Or be touched.”

“I haven’t touched you. Except for the times I punched you.”

“I know. But now, at least, there’s hope.” Sylar reached out, hand hovering centimeters above Peter’s exposed forearm. When Peter didn’t say anything, he let it rest with a sigh.

Peter stared at it. “It’s not surprising,” he said. “Touch is a pretty basic human need. It can really mess with people when they don’t get it.”

Sylar stroked the underside of Peter’s forearm with his thumb, eyes full of hope. After a moment, Peter heaved a sigh.

“Okay,” he said softly. He sat up and stripped off his shirt.

Sylar rose to his feet. “Okay?” he said. “You mean you want to – ”

“No,” Peter said quickly. “Not sex. But all this time without contact is making me feel like I’m losing my mind. I think it could help us both.” He looked intently at Sylar. “No sex.”

“No sex,” Sylar said quickly, hands up.

Peter nodded. “Take off your shirt – _just_ your shirt – and lie down.”

Sylar complied quickly, lying down with his back to Peter. After a moment, Peter slipped an arm around his waist and pressed in close, his chest and stomach to Sylar’s back. Sylar gave a shudder of pleasure and hugged Peter’s arm to his chest.

“Get the light,” Peter said. Sylar bit back a moan at the feeling of Peter’s breath on his neck, and he gestured at the light (which was just out of reach) so hard that the lightbulb shattered.

_5\. Three months later_

They slept together most nights. Peter ignored it when he woke up to Sylar’s erection poking into his ass. The first time Sylar woke to Peter’s, he whimpered and ground back against it. Peter rolled out of bed and told Sylar they had to sleep separately for a week, and from then on, Sylar never acknowledged it.

Mostly, it worked pretty well. Every so often, Peter would drift gradually out of sleep to realize that Sylar was whispering “I’m sorry,” in his ear, over and over. The first few times, he’d left the bed to go sleep on the couch, but finally he more or less accepted it.

“I know you are,” he’d say, tiredly. “Shut up.” Sylar would stop, and that would be it for a few days, or even a couple weeks, before he’d do it again.

One morning, Peter heard Sylar whispering. He’d started to be able to sleep through it, but the sunlight streaming in the window was waking him up. Gradually, he realized that for once, Sylar wasn’t apologizing.

“I want you to fuck me, Peter, oh, _god_ , I want you to hurt me, punch me, beat me, make me bleed, anything you want, punish me, kill me, take me hard, tie me up, I’ll bleed for you, I’ll come for you, I’ll do anything, anything…”

Sylar was rock hard against his thigh, arm squeezing Peter close. Peter listened silently for a couple minutes.

“Is that really what you want?” he asked finally. Sylar stopped abruptly, breathing hard. “Sylar?”

“Yes,” he said, the single syllable so needy and broken that Peter’s gut twisted in sympathy. He steeled himself and turned around till they were face-to-face.

“Okay,” he said, and pressed his mouth to Sylar’s neck, turning the kiss almost immediately into a bite, bringing an arm up to claw at Sylar’s back. Sylar gave a strangled gasp, cleaving to him. Peter rocked his erection against Sylar’s hip, his pent-up need, now free, washing over him like a tidal wave.

When he had sucked a large bruise into Sylar’s neck he pulled back and watched it fade before his eyes. Sylar looked at him with wide, dilated eyes, lips parted.

“Does…does this mean you forgive me?” he asked.

“No,” Peter said.

_6\. Five years in_

That day, Sylar wouldn’t stop begging.

It was “Please, Peter,” as Peter handcuffed him to the bedposts and inflicted the bites and little cuts and rough handling they both still seemed to need, and “Please, Peter,” as Peter shoved into him without preparation, Sylar’s spine bowing and Peter gasping at how the healing factor always seemed to make him so tight, and “Peter, _please_ ,” even after Peter had wrapped a hand around his cock and started jerking him hard.

Peter ignored it as he pounded into Sylar, until the neverending litany of “pleasepleasepleasepleaseplease” finally made him think maybe this wasn’t just sex talk.

He stopped thrusting and let go of Sylar’s cock. Sylar whined and twisted, seeking the friction again.

“What is it?” Peter asked, voice a little hoarse. “Please _what_?”

Sylar stopped moving then, staring up into Peter’s face. “Nothing,” he whispered, unconvincingly.

“Do you want me to stop?” Peter demanded.

“No! God, don’t.”

“Then what?”

Sylar dropped his eyes and turned his face away. “I just wish you’d ever kiss me,” he said, so quietly Peter had to lean in to hear him.

Peter sighed. It was the one thing they’d never done. He’d been over every inch of Sylar’s body with his mouth, and Sylar had done the same for him, but he’s always drawn the line at kissing. It just seemed wrong.

“I tried to tell myself you just don’t like to, but I remember better,” Sylar continued. He looked quickly at Peter then, eyes wide. He’d learned a long time ago that any mention of Nathan, no matter how oblique, usually ended their time together. “I – I didn’t mean to – Peter, I’m – ”

“Sorry.” Peter bent down, letting his weight rest on an elbow. He reached a hand up to touch Sylar’s face. “Yeah, I know you are, Gabriel.” He kissed him then, softly at first, then harder, Sylar responding eagerly, moaning against his lips. When he slipped his tongue into Sylar’s mouth, Sylar gasped, hips bucking, and Peter quickly realized Sylar’d come against his stomach, mostly, it seemed, from the kiss.

When Peter pulled back, Sylar was flushed from his face to his upper chest. “I – ” he started.

“Shh,” Peter said, and kissed him again, briefly. He started to move in Sylar again, more gently – maybe more gently than he ever had – and he stayed bent over, kissing Sylar occasionally, waiting till he was really on the edge before fucking him hard. Peter came in him with a shudder and a moan, pressing his face to Sylar’s neck.

When he could move again, Peter uncuffed Sylar and lay next to him, an arm thrown across Sylar’s chest, while Sylar stroked his back.

“Thank you,” Sylar said quietly, after a few minutes.

“No problem.”

“No, it’s – I know that wasn’t just a kiss for you. I…” Sylar fell silent. Peter was not entirely surprised to find he was glad, to have been able to do something positive for Sylar. That feeling had been creeping in a lot lately.

Nathan’s face, unbidden, came into his mind, and Peter tensed. He didn’t even know if it was his thought or Sylar’s, but it didn’t matter. He rose from the bed, feeling the old anger take hold of him one more time.

“I’m going to go shower,” he said shortly, and left the room.

But the next day, the wall came down.


End file.
